In the Hands of Death
by TheRiddleWriter
Summary: One hundred years after the war ended, Fate grants Harry his rightful occupation: The Master of Death. But wait, there's already a Master of Death, actually a Mistress of Death? Caught between his bitterness with the past, his new counterpart, and a pesky lady named Fate who's utterly fickle, Harry discovers a way to go back; what's a wizard to do? Time Travel, AU, Harry/OC, OOC
1. Chapter 1

**Harry/OC, AU, Time Travel, OOC, T for some cursing.**

**Summary: ****One hundred years after the war ended, Fate grants Harry his rightful occupation: The Master of Death. But wait, there's already a Master of Death, actually a Mistress of Death? Caught between his bitterness with the past, his new counterpart, and a pesky lady named Fate who's utterly fickle, Harry discovers a way to go back; what's a wizard to do?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or plotlines of Harry Potter, any plot devices that may seem familiar to you are purely coincidental.**

* * *

The man had wild, untamed ebony hair fanned out on a pillow and a red lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead that never faded with time. His clear, pale complexion would have illuminated the four-poster bed he was laying in had it not been today and his wired framed glasses, which was usually worn at all times, laid flat on the side drawer next to him. He looked good for a man of his 117 year age. His hair was only barely grey, his skin only slightly wrinkled, but his emerald-colored eyes still glowed bright with wisdom and knowledge.

From any other's perspective, Harry Potter had the ideal life. He was worshiped as the man-who-lived, married to his Hogwarts sweetheart, had three kids, had loyal friends, became a prized Auror, and had so much gold that he could probably buy all the Malfoy's possessions and still have enough money left to live a comfortable life. Albeit, of course, this was because all the money came from those who died in the war. Apparently, the light wizard community had made a silent, understood pact during the war. It was so that if a wizarding family died out during the war with no heirs intact, all their money would go to the savior of the wizarding war in hopes of supporting war efforts or just plain gratitude. Most did it out of gratitude, though. This was written in all of the wills, signed, sent and acknowledged by Lady Magic. Nevertheless, no matter how ideal his life was, Harry thought differently.

His eyes, though bright, held something off; a disinterested look that seemed to never diminish.

This apathy followed him for years, almost a full century before; it had infected his life and obliterated his emotions.

Like Ginny; sweet Ginny, whom he had spent the bulk of his life with. Ginny was his best friend and confidant. She was a vision of perfection and a comfort who stayed with him through the good and hard times. Ginny was the woman who birthed and raised his children, his partner in life, and his damsel in distress with whom he had spent a happily ever after with. Harry had loved Ginny.

Or at least, that was what he told himself.

His beautiful, perfect Ginny had suffered from dragonpox. Dragonpox was a disease that was known to be fatal if it infected those who are of older ages. Unfortunately, the disease was what had caused her early demise. During Ginny's funeral, Harry had actually felt slightly relieved. His kids were out of the house, working in the ministry and worrying about their own families. His friends were also in the same predicament. With the Potter manor to himself, he didn't have to lie as much anymore. He had the whole place for his own relaxing, where he could pass off his inhumanity and rejection of human contact and public appearances as post stress and bitterness for his lovely Ginny, although the death of his wife didn't actually affect him in the least. Like how someone would feel hearing about a stranger's death; he had felt bad for her, but not enough to evoke any real tears.

If Harry was being completely honest with himself, he knew that if anyone else in his life departs, it wouldn't really affect Harry whatsoever. Harry would think it would be an inconvenience to him but never a loss that would cause long-lasting emotional scars.

Harry knew it was wrong.

People weren't supposed to not care about their wife, kids, or friends. People weren't supposed to believe that funerals were a bothersome affair because it wasn't convenient for them. People weren't supposed to have the ability to kill someone they should have loved and not feel any remorse or regret. Harry knew this.

And to save him self from being called a heartless bastard that needed intense healing from those damned healers of St. Mungo's, the Man-Who-Lived lied.

Harry lied about his feelings towards everyone. When others expected Ginny and himself to get married, Harry proposed. When others expected them to have kids, he had kids. When others expected him to say a best man's speech at Ron's and Hermione's wedding, he faked tears. Harry lived up to all the expectations that were placed on him, all the while feeling nothing for those people he called family and friends. They were all complete strangers to him.

Harry didn't know exactly when he started to notice it, but he had discerned it must have started around the Battle of Hogwarts. But what had caused it?

It could have been the effect of the horcrux that was in his scar. The horcrux _had_ grown with him since he was fifteen months old; it might have grown so entwined with his mind that when it became detached a part of his emotional bonds did, too. Or maybe his brain had experienced too much trauma with the numerous deaths of his loved ones. His mind tried to cope with the experience, and in response his mind shut down the part of his brain that recognized emotional connections with other people. But these two possibilities didn't make any sense since his magical core, that was more powerful than an average wizard's, would have mended his mind and emotional system. Nevertheless, the results of both improbable scenarios were the same: everyone that he loved mattered no longer; they were all replaced with an empty void of black space and dulled feelings.

Harry Potter was currently laying on his bed, limbs sprawled and slightly tensed. His time was coming; he had felt it in his magical core. It was like bending one of his expensive griffon feathered quills. His magical core had felt like it was becoming weaker and weaker by the day. It had started in one place and began to spread throughout his system which he was aware of in every nerve of his body. One day, his magical core would snap in half and today was that day. He felt the familiar sense of foreboding and forced acceptance, the same he had felt during that one day he had willingly walked to his death (shame, the last of his feelings were ones of fear and an assent to his own death that had actually never tooken placed). He had also felt an ache in his bones that he had never had before and had found that his hands were getting more wrinkled and arthritic by the second. If a magical core failed an older wizard or witch, magic would rescind their attention to physical appearances and focus on the preservation of the magical core. This would cause the witch or wizard to look as they would at their age as if they were muggles. Any beauty charms, hair growth potions or magical manipulations to the physical appearances would become null and disappear.

Harry had heard of the muggle phrase "my life flashed before my eyes" and he could honestly say that that was utter bullocks because he did not see a life time of memories go by. He had only felt bitterness for his past, because, truthfully, what a life he had lived! He was wronged by society and publicity many times throughout his school career, but when he had sacrificed his life to those damned "honest and just" wizards, he was praised, loved and cherished by the very society and publicity who ridiculed and scorned him, believing him to be a crazy, arrogant fool who would be no hero to the wizarding world. He dreamed of having the perfect, strong and loving family, but believed he never could meet that dream because of the Dursleys, and, later, the whole Voldemort ordeal, but when he overcame those opposing forces and achieved that wonderful dream, he couldn't even enjoy it because of the emptiness that consumed the bonds inside of him. Was Fate trying to make him intentionally unhappy?

And with those last thoughts, the Man-Who-Lived fell asleep, never to open his eyes again.

~~oO0Oo~oO0Oo~oO0Oo~~

The ebony haired man woke up on a large marble checkered floor. The light above him was a holy, annoying white color that just _had_ to shine directly through his retinas. The light was like a muggle spotlight that casted blinding light on anything the it touched but would leave the rest completely dark and shadowed. Unfortunately, that light was trained on him. Harry needed a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the brightness and another few moments for his mind to understand what had just happened. He later regretted it when a resounding feminine voice reverberated throughout his mind —which was sure to cause him a headache or a need for a hearing potion— and seemed to cast tremors throughout the room or wherever the hell he was located.

"Your one hundred years are up, Mr. Potter and what an unremarkable one hundred years it has been. Really though, it was so boring to keep track of it. Of course, I guess, me cutting off your familial and friendly ties can do that to a person, but before that you lived an extraordinary life and had unknowingly yielded the requirements for what your new job entails. Your sense of fairness and unbiasedness have portrayed you as impeccable for this role. People like you come only once in a millennia and it would be a shame to past you up so I just_ had_ to do it. Welcome to your new life, Master of Death."

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**A/N: First chapter posted, and I must say I'm very nervous about it. I wrote and rewrote this chapter many times to get it perfect for readers to enjoy it. I know it's a bit wordy, but I just had to establish some of the facts down before the actual plotline picks up. Hopefully, I'll update soon.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Harry/OC, AU, Time Travel, OOC, T for some cursing.**

**Summary: ****One hundred years after the war ended, Fate grants Harry his rightful occupation: The Master of Death. But wait, there's already a Master of Death, actually a Mistress of Death? Caught between his bitterness with the past, his new counterpart, and a pesky lady named Fate who's utterly fickle, Harry discovers a way to go back; what's a wizard to do?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or plotlines of Harry Potter, any plot devices that may seem familiar to you are purely coincidental.**

* * *

Harry groaned in pain. After he heard the voice, his mind had gone numb. The only thing he felt was extreme pain racing through his veins and arteries. It was excruciating, like a dozen claws dragging across every surface of his inners, ripping and tearing the skins that housed his organs. It was as if someone casted a fiendfire curse inside his body and it's intent was to char everything in his body; every bone, every muscle, and every nerve. But, as unbelievable as it was, with every round of pain and agony, came a greater relief. As the pain racked his body, a sense of strengthening came with it. It was like the claws and fiendfire were toughening up his insides and changing them at a molecular level. With each painful round, the sting began to recede until it faded into nothing at all.

Harry opened his eyes and was surprised to see himself lying on the floor of another room. Yet it was much fuller and more elegant than the first.

The room was carved from black marble. Skillful architecture that reminded him of magical Ancient Greece was exhibited in every nook and crevice of the walls and ceilings. On the walls were mostly empty portraits and frames placed randomly around the room. The floor was of pure white marble that casted a glow and was reflected in the black marble, giving the room a dim but manageable light. It was an ethereal glow of sorts.

"Where am I?" Harry thoughtlessly asked, entranced by the detail of the space around him.

"You are in Death's realm"

Harry snapped his head up to the speaker, hastily. In front of a double door entrance stood a young girl. Her skin was very pale, almost as pallid as the floor she was standing on. It didn't help that her hair was jet black which made her features all the more paler. Her hair was straight and long, ending at the center of her back. If Harry hadn't seen as much death as he had, he would say that she was either extremely sick or a walking corpse, yet there was a hint of the barest touch of peach in her features that proved she was actually alive and breathing. But beside the contrast of her hair and skin, the thing that struck him most was her eyes. Her eyes were unique, royal blue and as deep as the ocean, which seemed to haunt the soul. She was no taller than 5"2 and probably maybe only reached up to Harry's chin, and that's being generous.

She reminded Harry of a porcelain doll, the type of dolls that Aunt Petunia used to collect; beautiful yet extremely unnerving.

Another feature that struck his notice was the invisibility cloak that sat on her shoulders and seemed to dwarfed her, the resurrection stone that was set in a detailed, silver necklace that rested around her neck, and the elder wand that was held tightly in her hands, trained at him.

"What…who are you?" Harry questioned, confused by the very incomprehensible predicament he was currently in. Evangeline walked closer towards him, wand still in hand yet more slacked.

"I am Evangeline, the Mistress of Death, and I already know about you. You haven't made things all that easy for me. But I do suppose introductions are in order…" she trailed off. She had a firm, stern voice, Harry noted, though for some reason, her voice sounded stressed and controlled, as if it wasn't how she normally talked.

"Look, I don't know where I am; I don't understand what just happened. All I know is that I died, woke up in some place, and heard a voice that told me I'm the master of death or something or other than I ended up here." Harry tried to explain.

"Yes, I expected that. Introduce yourself."

"Me? My name is Harry Potter."

"Well, Harry Potter, get up. You're dirtying the ground." Evangeline said, coldly.

That was when Harry noticed himself. He was dirty, disgustingly so. He was covered from head to toe with dirt, dust and blood. He had injuries and wounds as if he been in battle. He was wearing ruffled up Hogwarts robes. Come to think of it, he was wearing the exact same robes he wore in the Final Battle of Hogwarts, and had the same injuries, also. But over those robes situated the invisibility cloak, on his fingers settled the resurrection stone ring of Slytherin, and in his wand holster set the stunning elder wand. Harry blinked at his observations but followed her order and stood up. He was wrong; she only just scarcely made it up to his neck.

"Romulus, show him the spare room…" Evangeline continued.

"But that room hasn't been open for millenniums..." A deep male baritone rumbled. The voice came from a magnificent, magical portrait right by the double door entrance. It was large and massive, the frame was gold and beautifully detailed into shells and housed new pearls that glinted in the light of the reflection of the floor. The man inside the portrait, though, was different. Wearing the same deathly hollow objects as the pair standing in front of him (but the resurrection stone in the center of his headwear), stood a man of an assumed 35 years of age. He looked Greek in origin, proven by the white toga with gold trimming underneath his cloak and Greek head wreath. His hair looked of spun gold and eyes of friendly blue. He looked as if he was painted in Ancient magical Greece itself.

"Romulus, do it." the ebony haired girl sternly commanded.

"Yes, mistress. Follow me, Master Potter."

"Wait!" Harry exclaimed.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" the girl sighed, with annoyance. She was preparing to take her leave swiftly.

"Can't you at least tell me what's going on?"

"Too much to explain in too little time; tomorrow, I'll explain tomorrow. I must begin my work. Souls won't reap themselves." And with that, she turned around and took a step back the way she came, but before she could put her foot on the ground she was gone, vanished.

"Come Mr. Potter," the person in the portrait urged.

"What did she mean by reaping souls?" Harry questioned, still standing in place and staring at the place the girl departed.

"I though Mr. Potter was listening. It will be your new job, of course. It's the Master of Death's job to deal with souls," the portrait sighed.

"Master of Death?"

"Follow, follow, Mr. Potter. Mistress Evangeline will explain everything tomorrow," the portrait said impatiently.

Harry, not wanting the old portrait angry at him, began to follow. Romulus led him through the double doors and through a vast series of hallways, all beautifully carved from black marble and artfully adorned with portraits, knights in armor, and maybe the odd ornamental furniture such as a crafted, bejeweled chair or sculpture. Romulus led him through the many empty portraits that lined these hallways. Harry was beginning to feel dizzy. He was about to go down his first fleet of stairs, before he ran into a peculiar sight.

"Did that chair just move on it's own?" Harry asked, puzzled. One of the bejeweled chairs was hovering above the ground maneuvering towards some unknown location.

Romulus just chuckled, "Yes, dear boy. There are many invisible servants running amuck in this realm. Helpful, yet very, very fickle. They act on Mistress's emotions. Considering they're not shining your shoes…or your whole body…well, Mistress must not be too fond of you…or she must be very cautious of you."

"It seems like she hates me. Merlin, for one so small, she can be quite cold." Harry bitterly said.

It was then Romulus adopted a serious expression, "For the risk of murder, Mr. Potter, I beg you to not comment on her height. She's a little…touchy on that subject, trust me, I've learned from experience, and I doubt she hates you. Mistress Evangeline may be many things but judgmental is not one of them."

"It sure seems that way…"

"Mr. Potter, I shall hear no more. Saying Mistress is judgmental is equivalent to saying Lady Fate made a mistake, and saying Lady Fate made a mistake is begging for her wrath. She controls all of us; don't upset her." Romulus said, sternly, "Now, moving along, I'm afraid this is how far I can go. Now, I hope you enjoy your stay in de Suite de Metamorphagi."

"It looks a lot more….simple than the rest of the place," and it did. Instead of the marvelously hand crafted and spacious rooms and hallways of the rest of the realm, Harry was faced with a rather modest room filled with only the barest necessities. It had a rather unspectacular wooden bed, dresser and mirror, desk, side table, a bookshelf, and a connected bathroom. It was the mirror connected dresser that caught his attention, though. What Harry had expected to see in his reflection was a 117 year old wizard, wearing old, dirty clothes and all the deathly hallows. The clothes were right but what had caught Harry's attention was himself, 100 years younger than he was. He was 17 years old, again. How in Merlin's name did that happen?

Harry was broken away from his thoughts when Romulus replied back, "Yes, this room is also tied to her emotions."

"Merlin."

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**Thank you for the support of my first chapter. I wanted to update this yesterday for Christmas but Fanfiction logins had been down, and I haven't had a chance until now. Also please excuse any of my grammar mistakes that I may have made in this chapter or the rest of my story. If you spot one, please don't be afraid to point it out to me so I can fix it.**

**Excuses aside, I hope you had a merry Holiday and have a Happy New Year. Hopefully, I'll update before the year is out. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Harry/OC, AU, Time Travel, OOC, T for some cursing.**

**Summary: ****One hundred years after the war ended, Fate grants Harry his rightful occupation: The Master of Death. But wait, there's already a Master of Death, actually a Mistress of Death? Caught between his bitterness with the past, his new counterpart, and a pesky lady named Fate who's utterly fickle, Harry discovers a way to go back; what's a wizard to do?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or plotlines of Harry Potter, any plot devices that may seem familiar to you are purely coincidental.**

* * *

Harry dreamt of his time at Hogwarts that night. He often did this during the hundred years after the Battle of Hogwarts.

The dreams were always invigorating, filled with emotions and sensations that were previously so familiar, but now practically barren in his older life. Harry's dream usually revolved around moments of extreme emotions, such as the awkwardness of kissing a teary-eyed Cho, the cheerfulness when he thought he would be moving in with Sirius, the sorrow when Dobby had died, but, overall, the love he had felt that emanated from his friends and family.

Although he couldn't feel any real attachment toward his friends, he could still remember the attachment he felt before, and it was honestly what kept him sane throughout those last hundred years of his life.

"Master, wake up," a voice interrupted, rousing him to wake up.

"Huh? What?" Harry rasped, disoriented. Harry winced at his voice, and stumbled to sit up in his bed, instinctually trying to grab his glasses off the side table, just to find they were gone. Harry looked at the side table in confusion. Where had his glasses gone? It was then that he noticed he could see perfectly clearly, more clearly than the glasses ever allowed him. Harry looked around in wonder at the sharp details that surrounded him but was interrupted by the voice.

"Mistress Evangeline is waiting for you in the dining hall. I have been instructed to lead you to it. You might want to take a shower first," the voice suggested.

Harry looked down at what he was sleeping on and flushed to the tip of his ears. What he had expected was a bed of pristine white sheets and covers rumpled around him and pooling at his waist as he sat up, but instead they were all stained and muddy from his dirty clothes that he didn't bother to change out of. It was embarrassing. Harry looked quickly to where the voice came from, to apologize for the mess and was shocked to see a portrait that was previously nonexistent occupied by Romulus.

Romulus looked at his worried expression and chuckled, "Don't worry; the servants will clean the sheets. Clothes are in the dresser, breakfast will be served in the dining hall, also."

"How'd you get in here?" Harry questioned. Harry was particularly a very light sleeper. It was what had caused him to be an expert on the silencio charm during his first year of Hogwarts. Ron Weasley's snoring added to the rest of the boy's breathing were like earthquakes.

"Mistress made one of the servants put this portrait in your bedroom, yesterday."

That made sense. He was an outsider and if he, himself, was ever met with an unwanted outsider he would want to keep a close eye on them. Harry got up from the bed sheepishly and gingerly took a step toward the dresser, trying to ignore the reflection in the mirror; he bent down and pulled a drawer open.

Harry's sight was met with a large quantity of very expensive, very formal black robes, that reminded Harry of the Malfoy's attire save the green and silver accents.

"Why are all these so…formal?"

Romulus just grinned and said, "Mistress Evangeline considers the prestige of Death's Realm to be upheld at all times. To all immortal beings and, at a time, mortal beings, Death's Realm is the paragon of riches, beauty, and propriety," this was said with a roll of his eyes, " Anyway, this also consists of showing up at exactly the right time, so do take a bath, Mistress will explain everything."

Harry nodded and headed toward the bathroom, noticing the way the sheets seemed to lift up off the bed, wad up in a circular shape and move out the door.

Harry took an hour long shower, trying unsuccessfully to get the grime off every part of his body. The blood and the scars were too memorable to think about, and the dirt under his nails were too stubborn to wash out. He was getting frustrated. After he scrubbed at least three layers of skin off his entire body, he was finally satisfied. He changed into his formal, seemingly uncomfortable yet comfortable robes and walked out of the steam of the bathroom and stepped into the cool air of his bedroom.

The boy felt slightly awkward in his robes but looked to Romulus for directions to the dining hall. Romulus, however, seemed to be preoccupied with his thoughts.

"Um, finished," Harry said, lamely, trying to get his attention.

This seemed to startle Romulus out of his thoughts and hurriedly said, "Right, yes; now, follow me."

~~oO0Oo~oO0Oo~oO0Oo~~

Harry was led through more corridors, rooms and two fleets of stairs before finally arriving to their destination. Harry tried desperately to map out where they had gone but had gotten lost after Romulus turned right four times in quick succession. Harry wondered if Romulus was purposely trying to make him lost beyond belief. It sure felt like it, if the slight smirk on his face was to be believed.

As they arrived to there destination, Harry stopped and gasped at the sight before him. The dining room was the most exquisite room he had ever seen. The walls, ceiling and floor were all the same as the rest of the place, yet the dining room held decorative sculptures, an elaborate chandelier, an enormous dining table, windows, and a large fountain in the center of the far wall. All the sculptures were of animals, some magical, some not, and ones he couldn't name nor explain. They were all made of white marble and the most decorative of all of them was the phoenix taking flight. The windows were of pristine glass and emitted light into the room, making the dining room light up and brighter than any of the other rooms he had seen so far. Though the windows were of glass, there was no view outside what so ever, just a soft white color was visible. The draperies were black satin and pulled to the side. The fountain was also of white marble emitting a soothing noise of the water drops hitting the water below. The dining table was made and crafted out of black marble, adorned with silver accents, and was huge. Atop of it was food on silver platters fit for a king. The chairs were matched with the dining table and crafted with smooth white silk.

It was like a scene right from a story book, and the girl sitting in front of him on the far other side, at the head of the table and closest to the fountain, fit right in.

Evangeline, with her doll-like looks and stature, looked like a princess wanting to play king. She eyed him with her eerie eyes, scanning him and prompting him to sit down. Harry stumbled forward to the chair closes to him which happened to be the other head of the table and fumbled with the chair, startled when it pulled back for him.

The ebony-haired girl began to eat, daintily holding her silverware and taking small sips from her goblet. Harry felt awkward and stared dumbly at the food around him and asked, "So…what is this place?"

"No explaining until after breakfast," The girl commanded with a blank look and that stern, forced voice.

Harry hastily began to eat his breakfast, all the while feeling frustrated with his predicament. How in Merlin's name was he supposed to have a conversation about anything when he couldn't even get a few words in? When they finished eating breakfast, which was very quick for Harry because he was tired of suffering through Evangeline's stares of distain from his eating etiquette, Evangeline finally began to explain, much to Harry's relief.

"We are in Death's Realm, a sacred realm that houses the Master of Death, responsible for reaping souls and placing them where they need to be. You, God knows why, have been chosen to be the Master of Death, and assume these responsibilities. Training starts tomorrow," and with that she got up, her chair pulling out for her, and began to take a step probably to another weird dimension or something or another, Harry could assume.

Before she even moved her leg up off the floor, Harry panicked, "Wait, that can't be all! Who are you? Why have I been chosen? Why do you also have the Deathly Hallows? What did she mean by my emotional bonds being cut up?"

Evangeline sighed and sat back down, and looked at him with a full blank face, "So many questions…" she mused, "I assume you already had a list of questions planned up to ask me already. But let's start with the very first question when you walked into this room. This 'place' as you call it is, as I've already said, Death's Realm, and here in Death's Realm, there is a sense of propriety and manners that must be enforced at all times. What you did just there was an emotional outburst and will not be tolerated by Lady Fate, so control yourself. Second, you have been chosen as all Masters have been chosen, you had the requirements to become Master of Death and Lady Fate approved," she said, sternly yet in that weird, stressed voice.

"What are the requirements?" Harry questioned.

The short girl then looked slightly amused and replied back, "Oh, the usual; fairness, honesty, justice, integrity, persistence, ambition, modesty, cleverness, wisdom, intelligence…the deathly hallows."

"What?"

The girl looked at him as if he were stupid, "The Deathly Hallows, of course. The wand, the stone, and the cloak…"

"I know what they are, but I threw those away."

"As did all of us."

"Huh?" Harry asked, incomprehensibly. Harry was confused; he knew that the Deathly Hallows granted you to be the Master of Death but he thought that the Deathly Hallows only allowed you to have that title if you keep all three Hallows. The fact that all the Masters of Death had done this, apparently, confused him. Why did they do it?

Evangeline answered his unsaid question, "Only a wise and intelligent person would throw something so powerful away just to stop greedy power-seeking mongrels from fighting over it. Most every Master of Death chooses to throw it away or destroy them."

Then how were there multiple Masters of Death if the Hallows were thrown away or destroyed? The only way for a Master of Death to become the master was if they achieved and gained all three Hallows but if they were thrown or discarded, there would be no others. Harry thought back to the time he had all three Hallows, and now that he thought about it, he didn't notice any broken pieces or any wears on any of them. The only possible way for Harry to come up with was if there were multiple Deathly Hallows throughout the world so others can become Master of Death. Harry didn't notice he was voicing his thoughts out loud until Evangeline's strange voice brought him back out of his thoughts.

"No. Think harder, little Hero, if the Deathly Hallows were to have multiple counterparts then there would be too many cases in which two opposing sides will both have the elder wand, and Lady Fate will have too much on her hands."

Harry did not appreciate his little nickname in the least, but ignored it for thinking. He remembered the story Xenophilius Lovegood and Ollivander had told him. He remembered the stories about the Elder wand and how sometimes it disappeared from history but was sure enough to show back up. Harry finally came to his conclusion.

"The Deathly Hallows regenerates."

For the first time, Evangeline looked satisfied, "That's the ticket. Once the Deathly Hallows are lost or destroyed, all counterparts regenerate to another area where they compel wizards or muggles around that area to tell others about it, which starts rumors, that later comes pursuers."

"That doesn't explain the emotional connections."

Evangeline's face quickly became blank again, "Once all the Deathly Hallows are acquired, Lady Fate is alerted and she'll come and sift through your memories and feelings and judge you. If she sees you as good enough she cuts all emotional ties with human beings, be it family, friends, or lovers, to make the progression into being the Master of Death a lot easier. No one wants to judge there family and send them to their rightful place, if that rightful place is Hell. But as a bonus, she does give you one hundred years to live the rest of your life."

Harry didn't know what made him do it. Everything that she had said made sense and described that last years of his life perfectly, but for some reason he couldn't agree. Maybe it was because of the year's of lying or maybe it was because he just really wanted what he said to be the truth but he did it anyway and indignantly replied, "I don't know what you're talking about; I love Ginny and the rest of my family."

Evangeline just shot him an unimpressed look, "Cut the acting, Hero, I've seen it in your eyes, already; the blankness, emptiness, basically everything at your darling wife's death. But if it helps, I let her go for reincarnation. She didn't do anything entirely dreadful, but she wasn't all that truthful to you, either."

Harry wasn't surprised. He had his suspicions for a little while that Ginny wasn't all that faithful, and he accepted it, even though it hurt. Though, not because he was hurt because of her, but because of the principle of it; I mean, seriously, who cheats on their prince charming, Harry thought. It wasn't right, but he accepted it because he believed that was what he deserved for not feeling anything for her or anyone else. The love was what Harry had missed most. Even though he couldn't feel it for them didn't mean he didn't appreciate it when it was shown for him. After Ginny began to have more "late night meetings" with her coworker, Dean Thomas, the love he had felt from Ginny was gone and left Harry more of an icy brick than ever before.

"So is that it then? I can never feel love, again?"

"You can still create bonds, Mr. Potter. It just only applies to those like us, immortal."

"Who else is immortal, besides us, then?" Harry questioned, he felt as if there weren't many.

"Several people; Time, for instance, Wind, Fire, Earth, Water, all the Seasons, Lady Magic; hell, even Lady Fate herself, if you were... odd enough to like her. The breaking of the bonds is necessary to lessen the heartache of evaluating the death of a loved one."

"What is our job, exactly? How do you do it?"

"That will be explained tomorrow for training,"

Harry held an uncharacteristic look on his face as he stated, "I guess that just leaves one more question then."

"And what is that, Mr. Potter?" Evangeline's eye almost twitched before her blank mask had taken over her expression.

"Who are you?"

It was then Evangeline smirked, "My name is Evangeline, the Mistress of Death. I am sixteen years of age, born in the 12th century in England. After some certain circumstances, I gained my title and have been Death ever since."

"That doesn't explain why you hate me," Harry noted dryly, eyes narrowed.

"I don't hate you Mr. Potter."

"It sure doesn't seem like it."

"I don't hate you, specifically; I am...annoyed at someone, who will not be named, who decided that it is okay to make someone The Master of Death when there is already a Mistress of Death without that Mistress' consent," the blue eyed girl deadpanned.

"You mean Lady Fa -?" he was cut off.

"Shhhh…don't say that name. You never say her name unless you're singing her praises or mentioning her neutrally. Lady Fate will begin to pay attention to any of her subjects if she is mentioned so don't tempt her; she's incorrigible when faced with a challenge," the girl said seriously, as if she really wanted to help him.

"Okay, fine; but, I still don't understand what's so wrong with me being here."

Evangeline let out a large sigh, "Mr. Potter, please use your brain. Never in Earth's history has there ever been two Masters of Death coexisting at the same time; it has never happened before. The speculations on why it happened are endless; the other spirits are worried they also are going to be given a new counterpart."

"And why is that a bad thing?"

"If you had let me finish, I would have told you. The spirits are fiercely independent in their work; they have spent centuries to millenniums in solitude and have grown used to it. If a counterpart is added to the equation during their time as spirit, everything they know will be either changed or useless. The most independent of these spirits is Death. Death determines where a person's soul goes, the decision must be final and without hesitation. If someone else is able to change that person's eternity from what the original Master has already decided, the soul splits apart and become anchored to the Earth as a natural yet permanent defense and becomes an anchored soul, a ghost if you will, but without a choice. It's worrying at best that it had to be you who became my partner."

"What's wrong with me?"

Evangeline gave him a dubious look and remarked in a disdainful tone, "It's obvious, isn't it? You're too headstrong, too stubborn, too emotionally connected to your loved ones even after your bonds have been severed, and too brash to think ahead."

"I'm not! I-" Harry was about to argue but was cut off.

"Then surprise me. Training begins tomorrow, and until then I expect you to get some rest. Until tomorrow, Hero."

And with that Evangeline got up, chair pulled back for her, stepped to the right, and much like the day before, vanished without a trace.

Harry stood there in anger, fuming over the nerve of that girl. Fine, Harry thought, if she wants me to surprise her I'll surprise her. Harry then marched out of the chair, ignoring the chair pulling back for him, and made his way around toward the door and stopped when he realized he didn't know how to get back to his rooms. He stood there awkwardly before clearing his throat uncomfortably and calling out in high hopes Romulus was listening, "Um, Romulus? Can you show me back to my rooms

"Yes, Mr. Potter, follow me," came the smooth baritone after a few beets of silence, and with that both the man in the portrait and the boy set off to the boy's bedroom, all the while the girl with the royal blue eyes looked on in silence.

* * *

**Woah, this chapter was long to write. I guess you can think of this as a sorry for not updating before 2014. I tried, I really did but things came up. Happy 2014, though. ****I'm pretty sure there are many grammar mistakes so please excuse me for that. ****Anyways, what did you think of Harry's 2nd meeting with Evangeline? **

**Please read and review, I would really like to hear some feedback from any of my readers.**


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